A Little Comfort

She felt the Bosmer pause, breathing deep before pressing close for a long moment and finally pulling away.  Patience was a virtue with someone who had been hurt as this one had.  So she waited, keeping that gently encouraging touch on him as Ronthil moved down her body.  Her heart skipped as she looked down into Bosmer’s glowing gaze burning up from between her thighs. 

 

There was a nervous wetting of lips, and the lovely creature brushed his sharp cheek against the cool hide of her breeches. 

 

“I haven’t…a woman hasn’t…”  Ronthil began, obviously growing flustered with his own awkwardness.  If the Bosmer hadn’t looked so desperate, so hungry, she may have worried he didn’t swing her way.  But no, it was impossible not to see the marrow deep ache that seethed behind those eyes, lurking in the halting reverence of his voice.  “It’s just…been a while.   I-I apologize if my service is not to your liking…”

______

 

Divines, it had been so long since he’d touched a woman… intimately.  His sire had been a male, and unfortunately undeath had done nothing to change his inherent… weakness.  The court women of Volkihar had no interest in one such as him, not when so many were looking for advancement, status.  Ronthil was barely above a thrall.

 

But now he was here, and even if he’d doubted the Lady’s interest, he could not deny the scent of her desire in the air.  She wanted him, at least a little, and it gave him enough of a boost to press his lips against her leather clad thigh.  He would be good, so good, and gods willing the Lady would want to keep him.  Care for him. 

 

The leather’s flavor was thick and earthy against his lips, tingling with magic, but more exciting still was the heat of flesh beneath.  He groaned softly against the hide, shuddering as gentle nails raked across his scalp.  Ronthil had never really realized how much he’d missed such simple touches.  Minute, silly kindnesses that made his hands shake with a need he couldn’t quantify.  

 

He reveled in her heat, feeling the curves of her thighs, brushing his lips against the shape of them encased in leather and feeling his mouth grow wet.  She was so much more fragrant here, even underneath the layers he could feel her radiance.  His mind may have forgotten, but his body remembered quite eagerly the tastes of a woman. 

 

She was shifting beneath his hands, and even out of practice he recognized that restless arousal.  The Bosmer loved the feel of her against him, pressing his lips over the mound that was the center of the heat he so wanted to reach.  He wanted to please her, ached for it and audibly whimpered when her hand tightened in his hair and she tilted his nuzzling face up from her warm apex. 

 

Seeing her powerful gaze burning down at him made the poor Bosmer yearn even more.  “Go on,” she growled, voice roughened with a terrible hunger.  He loved the sound, nodding quick and desperate before his agile hands got to taking off the lady’s breeches.  Ronthil cursed his every fumble as he worked at them, flinching at first as he anticipated his lady’s anger with his sorry ineptitude. 

 

The lady though was so patient… so gentle with the ill-used Bosmer as he tentatively removed the barrier.  Now all that was between him and the heat that so called to him was a thin layer of silky underthings.  He groaned to see the fine fabric soaked through, and quickly leaned in to stroke his tongue over the moist cloth.